Amazing True Stories of Execution Blunders (18 page)

Here again his feelings overcame him and he leaned his head on the shoulder of Dr Hicks and sobbed pitifully and then went on with two more verses. When he had finished his chant, Dr Hicks stepped forward and, laying his hand upon Guiteau’s forehead, pronounced his benediction in a low voice.

The hangman, Strong, lifted the rope and put the noose in a calm, business-like way about Guiteau’s neck and fitted it snugly in the manner of a tailor trying a coat on a customer. He turned it a little, this way and that, and looked it over with a critical eye. Guiteau’s voice, coming with a ghostly sound through the black cap, was heard to cry, almost defiantly, as if with a last effort of the will, ‘Glory, Hallelujah! Glory!’ General Crocker then said, ‘Are you ready?’ in a low tone and, turning, waved his handkerchief at the cell window below.

He had hardly raised his hand before a sharp click of the bolts shooting back was heard and the trapdoors flew down and backwards in a flash. The rigid body of the assassin leaped into the gulf and jerked the rope as straight and as stiff as a bar of iron. There was no rebound, no swaying and no struggle beyond a quivering of the feet. The ghastly thing hung as still as a black bag of clothes.

Execution Of Charles Guiteau

The fall had hardly been made before a shrill and exulting cry rang through the jail from all the convicts in their cells, some of them murderers. It was a strange and thrilling sound as it echoed and re-echoed through the long corridors and was caught up by the waiting crowd outside, who knew what it meant and answered with cheers.

When the body had hung with the feet just touching the ground for over half an hour, it was lowered into the coffin which was waiting for it under the scaffold. The physicians decided at once that the neck had been broken. Those who desired could pass along the side of the scaffold and view the body. As the crowd filed past, John Guiteau fanned his dead brother’s face to keep away the flies. At 1.40 p.m. the lid of the coffin was put in place and the body borne to the jail chapel, where the physicians who were to make the autopsy were assembled.’

The newspaper later struck a bizarre note:

‘A visit to the jail will no doubt be a regular feature in the sightseeing of bridal couples hereafter. Several of them have been there and seemed to enjoy their visit. The guards and officers say it will probably be only a few days before the sightseers begin to stream in, and before another year is over, they expect to see the gallows hacked to pieces by the relic-hunters.’

In 1895 Sunday School Superintendent Theodore Durrant murdered two young women, Blanche Lamont and Minnie Williams, in San Francisco. Among the spectators at his execution in San Quentin Gaol was his father, his mother having to wait in a nearby room. Both parents were bitterly disappointed at having been refused permission by the authorities to film their son being hanged. After the execution the body was taken into an adjoining room and, it being assumed that the parents would be upset at the sight of their son’s corpse, they were asked whether they would like a cup of tea. They accepted, but instead of tea, a full meal arrived, so a table was set up a few feet from the coffin, and the father and mother sat down and ate a hearty meal. A newsman seated nearby reported to his editor that he overheard Mrs Durrant say brightly, ‘Papa, give me some more of the roast!’

John Haley

Most hangmen took great care to bind their victims securely, which is more than can be said for the executioner in charge of John Haley when that felon was due to be hanged on the Tasmanian gallows. Not that Haley was innocent and so might have deserved a chance to escape his fate; on the contrary, for he had recently confessed to two murders in addition to the one with which he had been originally charged.

After the reverberations had died away following the parting of the trapdoors, and Haley swung, his upper half visible above the level of the surrounding boards, it was seen that somehow he had managed to get one pinioned arm free and was now scrabbling at his neck in a vain attempt to loosen the noose’s stranglehold. The executioner didn’t hesitate to take instant remedial action; raising one foot he proceeded to kick the victim’s hand away. For a moment Haley’s hand dropped, but then he raised it again; at that the hangman, obviously irritated by the murderer’s refusal to die quietly and without further fuss, grabbed the rope and, while kicking out again at the man’s hand and neck, started to shake the rope violently, uttering expletives as he did so.

Onlookers reported that Haley’s struggles were frightful to behold, but eventually terminated, and the local newspaper included an article deploring the whole affair, saying that although the man was a self-confessed multiple murderer, such butchery on the part of the state was hardly compatible with the stage of civilisation a British colony might have expected to reach by 1861.

William Palmer, found guilty of poisoning his friend with strychnine and believed to have similarly disposed of at least a dozen others including his own wife and brother, was hanged in public outside Stafford Prison on 14 June 1856 before a crowd exceeding 50,000 spectators. On mounting the scaffold he became aware of the trapdoor on which he had been positioned. Testing it with his foot, he turned to the executioner, Smith of Dudley, and asked quizzically, ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’

Adam Hislop and William Wallace

Both Scotsmen were sentenced to death for robbery in 1785. It is likely that the latter man had been named after the Scots’ national hero, and although he didn’t suffer the same appalling fate as Sir William (who, after being captured by the English, was ‘hanged, bowelled and quartered’ in August 1305 at Smithfield, London), he still had a hard time of it. For, at the very moment the trapdoors opened beneath their feet, the ropes by which he and his companion were suspended suddenly broke, causing each man to lurch sideways in their descent, and instead of falling straight down through the aperture, came into violent contact with the edges of the platform. Both men also sustained further severe injuries on hitting the ground at the bottom of the pit, but there they had to lie until new ropes had been obtained, when they were once again assisted to mount the scaffold steps, once again to be noosed – and this time to be successfully dispatched.

Sentenced ‘to be taken to the gyppet [gibbet] at Wigtown, Scotland, on 31 August 1709 and there hang until dead’, Patrick Clanachan, the last man to be executed in that town, was being dragged on a hurdle en route to the gallows and, on seeing spectators running past to get a good place in the market square, called out, ‘Take your time, boys – there’ll be no fun till I get there!’

Richard Johnson

Not all criminals were thick-witted or resigned to their fate, of course; some were determined to stay alive at all costs and so worked out ingenious methods by which they could cheat the hangman. One such resourceful fellow was Richard Johnson. The
Gentleman’s Magazine
of April 1853 reported that:

‘He was hanged at Shrewsbury on 3 October 1696, but it was found that after he had been suspended for a full half-hour, life was still not extinct. An inspection revealed a skilful arrangement consisting of cords under his clothing, and two hooks concealed by his flowing periwig, which prevented the noose from effecting strangulation. Johnson, in planning his scheme, must have had the connivance of the under-sheriff, of a concession to the effect that the customary removal of all clothes from the corpse before being placed in the coffin should, in his case, be dispensed with, but had overlooked the difficulty of simulating death in such circumstances and for any considerable length of time.’

His basic plan was excellent, and theoretically stood every chance of succeeding; the hooks, positioned beneath the back of his wig, not only prevented the noose from tightening around his throat by catching over the rope, but being also connected to the harness, took the weight of his body. And once placed in his coffin fully clothed, thanks to the under-sheriff ’s cooperation, he could possibly have escaped en route to the Surgeons’ Hall and subsequent dissection, and may even have arranged for colleagues to create a disturbance so as to distract those charged with escorting him thither.

Alas, ingenious he may have been, actor he wasn’t; having to remain suspended, completely limp and motionless like a rag doll, was completely beyond his capabilities. Maybe he only half-stifled a cough behind his hood, or began to get cramp in his legs; whatever it was, it proved fatal in more ways than one, for after being cut down and his escape gear removed, the crowd received the bonus of a second item of entertainment as poor Richard was once more executed, this time decisively; after which his clothes were definitely removed before his corpse was deposited in his coffin.

In 1549 the Mayor of Bodmin, Cornwall, had taken part in an uprising, but so minimal was his participation that he was confident of an acquittal and this was further endorsed by the visit of Sir Anthony Kingston, who had invited himself to dine with the Mayor. The purpose of the visit, Sir Anthony explained, was to hang a man, and after the meal they adjourned to the newly constructed gallows.

‘Think you it is strong enough?’ queried his Lordship.

‘It is indeed,’ quoth the Mayor, only to recoil in shocked horror as Sir Anthony retorted, ‘Well then, get you up – it’s for you!’

Robert Johnston

There have been many horrendous blunders committed by hangmen in the past, but few can surpass the undiluted horror caused by the ineptitude and downright inefficiency of the Edinburgh executioner John Simpson when, on 30 December 1818, he had to hang Robert Johnston, aged 23, for the crime of robbery on the highway.
The Scotsman
vividly described how:

‘the place of execution was in the midst of the most public place in the City, in the Lawnmarket. The gallows rested on the wall of the old Cathedral Church of St Giles, and under the gallows was erected a scaffold, in the centre of which was a small quadrangular table on which Johnston stood, while Simpson attached a rope to his neck, the upper extremity of which was tied to the gallows.

When the criminal gave the fatal signal, it was intended that the table on which he stood should instantly drop to the level of the flooring of the scaffold, and leave him suspended [in much the same way as that used in the execution of Lord Ferrers in 1760]. But through the culpable negligence of those concerned in this operation, it really seemed as if the whole had been contrived to produce the shocking consequences which ensued. For, in the first place, the table, which seemed to be elevated only about eighteen inches above the level of the scaffold, was manifestly too low to admit of a sufficient length of rope between the neck and the gallows, unless it was intended to keep the unhappy man for a long time in torture, by making the rope quite tight before removing the table. In the next place, the table was so clumsily constructed that it could not be removed until some time after the signal.

Accordingly, nearly a minute elapsed after the signal was given before the table could be forced to drop, and after it was got down, the perpendicular fall was so short that the unhappy man’s toes were still touching the surface, so that he remained half-standing, half-suspended, and struggling in the most dreadful manner.

It is impossible to find words to express the horror which pervaded the immense crowd assembled round this shocking spectacle, while one or two officials were at work with axes beneath the scaffold in a vain attempt to hew down a part of it beneath the feet of the criminal. Meanwhile the cries of horror from the populace continued to increase. Still the magistrates and others on the scaffold did nothing effectual; and it is hard to say how long this horrible scene might have lasted had not a person near the scaffold, who was struck by a policeman, cried out, ‘Murder!’ Those unaware of the circumstances of this assumed that the cry came from Johnston and, their feelings not able to bear further lacerations, went into action, a shower of stones taken from a loose pavement compelling the magistrates and police to retire in a moment.

The crowd then took possession of the scaffold, a genteelly dressed person cutting down the unhappy man and, after some time, they succeeded in restoring him to his senses. They then endeavoured to carry him off, and had proceeded some way along the High Street when the constables, who had abandoned their post on the scaffold, proceeded with their bludgeons to assail all the individuals who were around the near-dead man, of whom they at length recovered possession.